Tainted Trust
by carryon-vs
Summary: Episode 1.14. Harvelle's Roadhouse is back in the business and Ellen invites the boys over. Shortly after their arrival hunters die in most gruesome ways, one by one, and the blame is quickly assigned to the Winchesters.
1. Chapter 1

Carry On...a Supernatural Virtual Season

Episode 14: Tainted Trust

Authors: annj and Bayre

Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural or it's characters, basically any characters familiar from the show. They are properties of the WB, CW and Eric Kripke.

A/N: Carry On...A Supernatural Virtual Season picks up at the end of All Hell Breaks Loose part one and then ventures on with a what if scenario that takes the Winchester brothers through heaven and hell while fighting to save the remnants of their splintered family. See our bio page for more information.

Episode Summary: Harvelle's Roadhouse is back in the business and Ellen invites the boys over. Shortly after their arrival hunters die in most gruesome ways, one by one, and the blame is quickly assigned to the Winchesters. All of a sudden they have to defend themselves against more than supernatural beings.

PART ONE

It was moments like this when the world stopped turning for a little while. He could feel the sun in his face, the sound of the Impala under him eating away the street, mile after mile. The music coming from the radio and Dean's voice singing slightly off-tune. It felt peaceful, contented . His mind blank and empty. Not thinking about anything, caught in a state somewhere between sleep and vigil. He felt safe and at home, the smell of oil and greasy French fries in his nostrils. The steady beating of Dean's fingers on the steering wheel. Still far away but close enough to be _there_.

These moments, though, didn't last long and the closer he got to being awake the more he remembered. Everything.

It all came back like a sudden monsoon crashing down on him with a force that would have made his knees buckle if he weren't sitting already. He felt dizzy, disoriented. His mind raced until it could sort out every single thought and put it in its right place. It was an almost painful process that left him breathless and immensely sorry for waking up in the first place.

"Rise and shine, little princess," Dean said good-naturedly, throwing him a quick glance, and Sam blinked a few times before trusting his vision. "You looked so peaceful," Dean teased and Sam knew what it meant. _Feel free to sleep on. You sure need it._

But Sam was awake now and even though he couldn't remember his dream, he knew it hadn't been exactly pleasant. Which meant he had no intention of repeating it.

"Where are we?" he asked with his tongue still not working properly. It sounded more like, "Whererwe?"

The sun was standing low at the horizon, only barely peaking over the distant tree line and the sky was bathed into an explosion of red, yellow and orange. A fantastic view, albeit a little cheesy.

Jess probably would've liked it.

The warm light drew long shadows on the ground and Sam flinched.

_I can't even appreciate sunsets anymore. What comes next? Torturing puppies and stomping on flowerbeds?_

"Close," Dean answered, taking his foot off the gas to slow the car and take the next turn off the highway. "We'll be there in about ten minutes, give or take," he informed rather reluctantly, casually leaning back into his seat and throwing Sam another wary glance. "So, this is our last chance to bail. You wanna take it?"

"Naah." Sam sighed and rubbed his face viciously to get rid of the last signs of sleep on his face. "Ellen will nail our asses to the bar the next time she sees us if we don't show up now. Might as well get it over with."

"Whatever you say, man." Dean replied, concentrating back on the street.

Sam regretted coming here already but he knew there was no way to change his mind. Not now. They had promised.

Well, actually, they had said _We'll see,_ which Ellen had translated into _Of course we will. We'll bring presents_. They had _not _brought presents.

They took the last turn, now heading straight towards the rebuilt building standing at the end of a short, dirty road. Visible from a far distance by the large neon sign on the front.

_Harvelle's Roadhouse._

"Home sweet home," Dean said, grinning, and slowly rolling over the gravel to park between a large pickup and a dirty BMW Touring. Turning of the ignition, they listened to the ticking of the motor cooling down, silence between them.

"You know, we could..."

"No, we couldn't," Sam decided finally and made an attempt to give Dean a confident grin. "_I_ don't want to be nailed to the bar."

They got out of the car, staring for a moment at the building. It seemed larger but that could have been just imagination. The wooden walls were not painted, which gave it a rustic appearance. The white-framed windows were new and friendly-looking. The neon sign, though smaller than the old version, looked brighter which was probably because it wasn't covered with thirty layers of dust and grime...yet.

"Neat," Dean complimented, nodding.

The sun had vanished entirely and dusk started to settle when Dean opened the door and entered, closely followed by Sam who looked around, taking in as much input as possible. It was a habit born of many years of visiting filthy bars to gain information as fast as possible.

The tables near the door were all empty. A clear sign that the guests were hunters. Therefore, most groups were gathered around the tables in the back of the room. Twelve men, Sam counted quickly. Most were sitting around a large table next to the pool table, all with either a bottle of beer or a gun in hand. Even though the latter were either pointed at the ceiling or taken apart for cleaning Sam felt immediately uncomfortable. Others were sitting in smaller groups, their heads close together. One man, a priest, whose brilliant white collar stood out sharply in the company of dirty clothes, unwashed faces and three-day beards sat in the farthest corner, nursing the only glass in use, the bottle standing next to it.

The noise died down as all eyes rested on Sam and his brother. An uncomfortable silence rose and Sam was close to turning on his heels to leave when Ellen's voice greeted them.

"Sam, Dean. So good to see you," she said effusively. Sam had the feeling she did it on purpose to cover the tension.

Slowly but surely, the guests turned around and their talking returned to a constant background noise like in any other bar.

Still mildly suspicious, Sam and Dean made their way over to the counter where both men sat down. A beer appeared in each of their hands and Ellen was grinning wildly. "Glad you could make it, boys."

"We're not working on a case right now." Dean shrugged and pointed his head to his brother. "And Sammy needed his portion of milk."

"Funny, Dean."

"Anyway, we thought you might have a case for us. Something worth looking into?" He sounded almost hopeful.

"Sorry." Ellen shook her head. "If I had, these hunters..." Her eyes turned to the other hunters in the room."...would've been long gong and gotten busy with some manly killings."

"Oh... in that case..." Dean attempted to get up and leave. "Nice seeing you, Ellen."

"Hey," she replied, but laughed when Dean grinned at her. "So, how are you? Haven't heard from you for a while." She stopped, obviously thinking about what she was about to say. "I... got a call from Bobby..."

Sam flinched, shrinking on his stool.

"We're fine!" Dean said, emphasizing the _We_ to distract her from Sam, who probably to her looked like he would crawl under the counter any second.

Ellen watched them for a few moments, then her face brightened, a sincere smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Really, it's great to see you." Her eyes rested on Sam just a little bit longer. "Are you two okay? You've had a couple of rough days, I heard."

Dean studied Sam, shrugging. "We're fine. The usual." His took a sip of his beer, let it linger in his mouth and pulled in a breath between his clenched teeth. "Niiiice!"

"It's beer." Sam frowned.

"It's good beer."

"It's imported."

"So what? No reason to be a beer racist, Sammy." Dean grinned at Sam, then turned back to Ellen, who had started to sort a few glasses standing on one of the shelves. "Looks really nice. The bar, I mean."

"Thanks, Dean." She finished re-arranging the utensils. "It wasn't easy and most of the walls are merely standing because of spit and prayers..." She laughed at Sam's appalled face. "Just kidding. It's here and it's stable. It won't be easy to blow it away this time." She looked at them sharply, imitating a strict mother who warned her kids not to do anything stupid. "So I don't want any explosions or funny things going on in my place, got it?"

This time, Sam's shock was real and he recoiled visibly whereas Dean's face darkened, revealing a _Was that really necessary?_ without saying the actual words.

It made Ellen blush and she apologized with a sad sigh. "Sorry, it wasn't meant to come out like that. This can be your home, boys, if you want it to and I didn't want to make you feel unwelcome."

"It's okay, Ellen, we under—"

Dean stopped and tensed when someone appeared next to him, leaning over the counter. "Hey Ellen, gimme another beer, would ya?" Then, looking at Dean. "Long time no see, Winchester. Heard you've gotten us in a deep shit." He motioned to his buddies, who were staring with leery gazes in their direction. "We barely have time to get a break between cases. Wonder why's that?" he taunted, his lips curled in a sneer, his grey eyes squinted with hate and anger.

"Looks like you got all the time in the world, Sears, counting the hours you spend at that table, drinking beer," Ellen replied before Dean could say something even less diplomatic. "I don't want no fights in this bar, Sears. Got it?" She unceremoniously put the bottle on the bar, the liquid sloshing over the rim.

Sears snarled, actually showing yellow teeth, and with a long hateful stare at Sam he turned around, not saying another word.

"Just ignore him," Ellen offered, her voice now a little lower than before. "You know how hunters are. They know how to kill with a spoon but they can't control what crap comes out of their own mouths."

Dean grinned, though a little reserved. "You're a hunter, too, Ellen. As are we. Trivialization is a nasty habit," he scolded and Sam managed a half-grin, taking a sip of his own beer.

The regret was still there, somewhere in the clenched regions of his stomach. _We shouldn't have come here_, Sam thought but felt ashamed immediately because Ellen looked seriously happy about their visit. As happy as Ellen could look, at least. She hovered close to them for the next hours, offering beer and later milk for Sam, which made Dean roar with laughter. Sam almost enjoyed it. Just sitting and sipping on his beer every few minutes. At one point he joined their laughter and his brother clapped his back, in urgent need of breath because the laughing made his ribs ache.

He didn't really know when it happened but all of a sudden he felt himself tense. Dean and Ellen were engrossed in a discussion about the pro and cons of guns and sharp knives when his mind decided to take a stroll on its own.

Since they had arrived at the roadhouse, no one else had entered or left. The mob of hunters still sat in the far corner and the priest was still holding the glass in his hand like he wanted to crawl inside. Still, something in the room made the hairs on his neck stand up and he shivered. Qualms began to make the beer on his tongue taste bitter and repeatedly he looked over his shoulder to watch the men closely. He started to feel his blood flowing, could hear the pulsing in his ears and tried to quell the bad feelings. This was supposed to be a relaxing evening with Dean, Ellen and beer.

"Hey!" someone yelled angrily and before he even turned around, Sam could feel the eyes of most of the men resting on him between his shoulders. Half a dozen men had gotten up to take their stance behind Sears, who stood glaring at them with fury in his eyes. He didn't wear a weapon--not yet-- but others did. Even though nothing was pointed at the brothers, their message was clear.

"Sears, now what?" Ellen boomed and walked around the corner to put herself between the hunters and the brothers. "I told you I don't want no trouble in my bar. Back off and cool down before I kick your sorry ass outta my bar!"

Sears didn't look impressed and stared past Ellen at Sam, whose fingers closed hard around the smooth surface of his bottle. He held his breath, willing himself to stay calm. He could feel Dean's hand on his lower arm, squeezing comfortingly.

"We don't want trouble with you, Harvelle. It's the two Winchesters we want."

The tension in the bar was palpable. The air felt thick and hot and Sam wouldn't have been surprised to see wafts of mist rising from the floor like steam in a sauna.

"Dammit, Sears," Ellen boomed and Sam stood up, put the bottle of beer on the counter and murmured. "It's okay, Ellen. We're leaving..." But he was interrupted by an angry outburst from Dean, who had gotten up from his stool, though a little shaky on his legs. _At least one beer too __many_, Sam thought with growing apprehension.

"Are you insane? Of course we're not leaving," his brother remarked and Sam had a bad feeling, the roadhouse was in for its premier brawl. This was not what he had wanted to find here.

"Please, Dean... can't we just...?"

Ellen looked half helplessly and half apologetic between him and Dean and he was feeling painfully sorry for her.

"We just heard a few things and wondered if you could clear things up for us, Winchester," Sears mocked, his voice hard.

"Sure, Sears. I can help you with that," Dean began and Sam knew from experience that his brother's words would not be spoken in a very helpful manner. "First, you make a loop with one lace. Then with the other... With me so far?" Dean smirked, but behind his amused expression Sam could see his brother's blood boiling.

"Dean..." Ellen tried to intervene but the ball had started rolling.

"We lost a few good men in the last few weeks."

"So what?" Dean replied. "'t's not our fault you can't take care of your goonies."

Yes, that was exactly the kind of thing Sam had expected his brother to say. He groaned inwardly. "Dean, maybe..."

"Maybe what?" Dean was obviously pissed and the humor was gone, increasing the tension and the heat like stirring a pot over an open fire. "Maybe we can run with our tails between our legs? That's not what we're going to do, Sammy."

"Right, _Sammy_," Sears mocked and his buddies guffawed stupidly.

Sam felt himself blush, not out of embarrassment but panic. This situation was getting out of his hands faster than he had feared. Reaching for Dean's shoulder he tried to hold him back, could feel the tension in his brother's muscles. "Dean, come on, man..."

His hand was pushed away and Dean took another step towards Sears.

"Look, buddy, is there anything specific you want to talk about or is this just your mouth overstraining your brain?"

"You bet your ass there's something specific in there, _Winchester,_" Sears spit out the name with disgust. "Maybe you haven't heard yet but there're a few rumors going around about you and your brother..."

"Stop reading all that housewife glamour shit when you go have a manicure. Does not help your intelligence."

Sears only kept staring at him. Obviously, this was not about letting off some bunkered steam and Dean knew it.

"Why don't you just give us some insight on your point of view? You only let loose about a hundred demons."

"It was an accident," Ellen yelled, addressing Sears.

"You don't _accidently_ open the gates of hell," Sears replied. "And we're wondering why you and your brother are always right in the middle. Makes us curious, that's all." The way his friends caressed their guns it looked like they were anything but curious. More like biased. "And you see, there have been some interesting rumors about your little brother..." Sears added. "...who, as should be clarified, shouldn't even _be_ here anymore."

Sam froze in terror, feeling sick to his stomach and he could feel his fingers trembling. Blinking, he opened his mouth but no words came out.

"In our line of work, what's dead should stay dead," Sears concluded, staring at him. His voice deep in his throat.

Ellen looked like she was as frozen as he was and her eyes shone with shock. She looked at Sam, apologizing without words as if it was her fault that Sears was a giant douchebag.

Finally, Dean replied, his tone vibrating. "You stop right now or you're going to regret this, pal." Anger was rolling off of him in waves and it would have taken just a miniscule dab, just a cough actually, and Dean would have exploded.

"Dean, please, I don't want..." Sam whispered again, hoping against hope that his brother would realize that they weren't worth it, anyhow. Not these idiots who had more alcohol in their blood than cleaning oil on their guns.

This whole situation felt unreal, even bizarre and Sam had no idea why. Sure, they had been in bar fights before. They had even gotten a shiner or two at the Roadhouse but never before had he felt that personally attacked. The rage of these men was almost like a smell and he needed fresh air. His throat constricted painfully and he wheezed, keeping himself upright only with the help of the bar stool. The blood was rushing in his ears, as loud as if he were standing right next to a waterfall. He could see people's lips moving, could see them fighting with words and taunts and Dean's fists were forming tight balls, that Sam had no doubt would be breaking noses and bones in a second.

Yet the walls were coming closer and a wave of vertigo threatened to pull him under. His fingers gripped the edge of the counter tightly. He needed to calm down. Needed to get a grip. The base of his neck was itching and his powers yearned for a release. This was too much pressure and had no idea how to...

Next to him, a bottle of beer exploded. Broken pieces of glass and stale beer were raining down on him and he held his arm in front of his face for protection.

"Sam?" Someone yelled into his ear but it sounded far away. Looking up, he saw Dean standing directly in front of him. His brother's hands were pressed against his chest, moving with it when he tried to take a deep breath. "Breathe, Sammy."

"I'm...trying." Sam croaked. "Need...air."

He felt himself being led towards the door and seconds later, the air of the night felt cold on his heated skin. Immediately, it was easier to breathe and he leaned against the wall next to the entrance.

"Sam?" Dean enquired in a worried tone. "You okay?"

Sam nodded, his eyes still closed. The noise from inside the roadhouse was muffled. The voices weren't as heated as before and Sam almost panicked when he realized that they had left Ellen behind with a mob of pissed off hunters. "Ellen...!"

"She's a tough girl." To make sure, Dean glanced through the window inside. "She can deal with it." His hand was a comforting weight on Sam's shoulder. "Dammit, Sammy," Dean burst out. "What the hell just happened? Did you just make the beer bottle explode?"

"No!" Quickly, Sam shook his head, regretting the motion since it made the world spin once more. "Well, maybe. I don't think so...Dean. I don't know what happened. I feel...strange. I can't really pinpoint it but I think...something is wrong."

"With you? Of course something is wrong with you. You made a beer bottle explode even though there was still beer in it," Dean joked half-heartedly.

"No, this is something else. This feels like...like when you're standing close to a magnetic field, you know?"

"Magnetic field? This is not Star Trek, Ensign."

Sam managed a small chuckle. It was bad enough Dean was watching the late night reruns of Star Trek when he couldn't sleep but did he have to use them on _him_?

Breath after breath, he felt stronger, more himself, and a few seconds later Ellen joined them, her cheeks red with agitation.

"Is everything okay with the both of you?" she wanted to know. "I have no idea how they know..."

"It's okay, Ellen. Thanks for the help." Dean thanked her. "Maybe Sam is right. We should just...go."

"No way," Ellen negated his suggestion with a wave of her hand. "That's out of the question. You can't drive anyway after five beers and Sam looks like he can barely keep himself upright, let alone drive off in the middle of the night. You are staying, understood?"

"We could..." Dean started to protest.

"What part of _That's out of the question_ didn't you get?"

"Look, Ellen. You know this is a bad idea with the pack of _them_ staying here." He referred to the other guests of the roadhouse, wondering how Ellen had managed to keep them inside after the random display of Sam's power. "We'd be inviting trouble if we stayed. And I can't promise not to cause trouble in reverse, if you know what I mean."

Sam could imagine very well what Dean meant with that and he almost felt sorry for the guys who had the nerves to go up against his brother.

"Dean," Ellen looked at him, her left eyebrow raised. "This is Harvelle's Roadhouse, after all. It's the trouble's headquarters."

It wasn't supposed to sound like a bad omen but, in Sam's ears, it did.


	2. Chapter 2

PART TWO

The guest rooms were in a row at the back of Roadhouse and attached to the back of the building. Dean and Sam took one, Dean was relieved to see it was on the far end of parking lot, close to where the Impala was parked, and a corner room. At least they could be left alone and maybe, just maybe if they were really lucky, the others there would forget about their presence.

Who was Dean kidding, those morons weren't going to forget he and his bottle exploding brother were here.

They spent a few minutes completing their usual routine of late, warding and salting whatever room they were staying in. Sam stood on the small, round table in the room, reached up to draw a devil's trap. Dean grabbed his shin to steady him, not paying much attention to what Sam was doing.

When Sam chuckled, Dean looked up and immediately snickered. "Guess we should have known." There was a rather large and elaborate devil's trap already on the ceiling, but in a color only one shade darker than the background. Unless someone looked for it, the chances they'd see it immediately were small. Dean figured if they bothered to look under the rug they'd find one on the floor too.

"Yeah." Sam jumped down from the table. "I wonder what the non-hunter guests think of the ceiling décor?"

Dean laughed outright at that. "I don't think there are any non-hunter guests."

Sam shed his coat and draped it over a chair. "I suppose not." His hands were still shaky when he reached for his duffel.

As much as he was obviously trying to hide it, Dean still saw and homed in on the movement.

"You sure you're okay?"

Sam nodded. His expression—hell his entire body—was sullen and unsure. Well, that wasn't going to do, not at all.

"Sammy—"

"You know, Dean, I know what you're going to say. Why don't you save yourself the effort and drop it? I am what I am."

Throwing both hands in the air and letting them drop, Dean sighed then barked a laugh. "Okay, genius, you know what I'm going to say? Well, bully for you. Apparently, knowing what I'm going to say and _listening_ to it don't go hand in hand, so guess what? I'm saying it again." He didn't mean for it to happen, but with each word Dean's voice rose until he was shouting at Sam. He'd wanted to reassure his brother, not fling anger at him. "Listen up, because this is…"

"…the last time you're saying it." Sam's lips twitched up as he finished Dean's sentence, which simply pissed Dean off even more.

Eyes narrowing, Dean glared at his brother. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"And I'm not evil." Sam sighed. "You're not the one who gets looked at like you're some kind of freak who might blow up the planet at any second." He sat down and rubbed at his temples.

"Anyone looks at you like that and I'll kill them. Problem solved."

Sam's gaze popped up at him, accompanied by a small head shake. "At least _you're_ consistent."

"Damn straight." Crossing both arms over his chest, Dean rocked back and forth on his heels, quite pleased with himself. "There, see, settled. You said it yourself, you're not evil."

Cocking his head to one side, Sam gave him a _don't_ _try to trick me_ look, which Dean wasn't buying at all. If he said it enough, reminded Sam enough that he was good and valuable—_trusted—_then it would be so. Very simple really.

Sam opened his mouth, no doubt to spew more crap, but thankfully Dean was saved from having to argue his point any further by a rap on the door. Dean threw a smug look back at his brother as he crossed the room to the door. "Don't forget where you got those debating skills you're so freaking proud of."

Laughing, Sam flopped down on the bed, arms out to his sides, legs dangling off the edge. "As if you'd let me. Learned from the best and all."

Dean looked out the peephole, hand resting on his handgun. Relaxing at once, he glanced back at Sam and nodded. Sam hadn't moved from his spot on his bed other than to roll his head to the side to watch Dean. That sent a sudden and unexpected rush of warmth and comfort through Dean. There were no words needed, but Sam had said so much in that simple act. Dean was once again the all-powerful protector in Sam's eyes, trusted to keep the kid safe.

Sam pushed onto his elbows, waiting patiently for Dean to open the door. He didn't ask, or even look mildly concerned. He simply waited on Dean's actions. Opening meant an assessment of someone safe on the other side, not opening would likely get Sam moving to where their weapons' duffel sat for his own gun and a flask of holy water.

Rolling his eyes, Dean looked at the floor for a few seconds before rubbing at the back of his neck. He was getting a headache from all this. A second, louder, sharper, more insistent rap at the door made him realize the person on the other side wasn't going to go away anytime soon. Cracking open the door, Dean peered out then stepped back fast to avoid being hit with the door when Ellen barged through.

"Is something wrong?" Sam sat up completely.

"Hey, Ellen." Dean stepped back and let her fully inside the room.

"I just wanted to check to be sure you boys were alright."

"We outgrew the need for a babysitter years ago." Dean smiled, then sidestepped away from the woman when she turned a glare on him. "Sorry. We're good. Great in fact."

Ellen smacked the side of his head. "What part of _I don't want any trouble here_ don't you get, boy?"

"What part of _we'll be leaving now_ didn't you get?" Dean shot back.

Sam sat, eyes shifting back and forth between the two as if he were watching some kind of tennis match.

"Sam and I were ready to go, but noooooo…have to stay."

"Don't you mouth off to me! What the hell were you doing getting into it with Sears?"

"Hey, he started it." Dean looked over at Sam for some support, but the little snit-wad took the passive-aggressive route. He shrugged and snickered. "Besides, he threatened us and what did you expect me to do? Turn the other cheek?"

"Yes! What I didn't expect was beer bottles blowing up right on the bar."

"Okay, you know what? I've had it with all this crap and all you people. My brother hasn't done a damn thing wrong." Dean shouted at Ellen, but pointed to Sam. "He hasn't hurt anyone who didn't need hurting and no one is going to say otherwise. Let's not forget you're the one who made cracks about not blowing the place up."

"You don't have to defend Sam to me. I'm one of the good guys, I'm on your side, remember? Your brother—"

"Is in the room!" Sam was on his feet, fists clenched, face pinched and angry. The passive part of his passive-aggressive act was definitely gone.

Ellen closed her mouth and pressed her lips to a thin line. Hands on hips she looked from Dean to Sam and back again. "I'm sorry. There are a lot of guys out there with big guns and anger issues. I don't want anyone hurt."

"Yeah? Well, you're the one who asked us here. Hell, Ellen, you demanded we stay here the night. My brother didn't do anything wrong and anyone saying otherwise or threatening him is going to answer to me. Don't forget I have big guns too." Cause, seriously, Dean was simply done with this load of horse shit. He was tired of slinking around like a wounded dog hiding from its attackers and he was really tired of having to watch Sam do it. "Other hunters, can go to Hell. They don't like us, too bad. We're done worrying about what they like or don't like."

The expression Ellen wore told Dean she realized she'd overstepped her bounds and pushed him too far. He ventured a glance at his brother. Sam's eyes were moist and his face was an odd mixture of relief and utter gratitude. It was far from the first time Dean defended Sam to someone, and he was quite sure it wouldn't be the last, not by a long shot. What Dean was now seeing was every time he did so, his brother's self-esteem and confidence bumped up a few notches, it was all over the kid's face, plain as day to Dean.

"Sam was right, we can't stay here. No hard feelings to you, but I think it's best if we just leave."

"No, boys." Ellen walked to the middle of the room, putting herself between them.

When Dean glared and moved so he was nearer Sam and not separated from him, Ellen nodded and looked around the room, gaze landing on some point to their right. She took a deep breath and spoke again, this time voice soft and kind. "I want you boys to feel you can come here whenever you need to. I want _everyone_ to feel that way. This is neutral territory. I want it kept that way."

Dean looked at Sam. "It's late, we're both tired and neither of us should be driving, but there are a lot of times we shouldn't be driving." If Sam didn't want to stay, Dean wasn't going to force the issue. "As long as we stick together, watch each other's backs…" he let his voice trail off, leaving the open-ended question hanging between them.

Sam would understand it was his call, if he felt that uncomfortable they'd leave no matter who said what about it. "We leave in the morning?" Sam asked softly.

"Sure thing, buddy," Dean agreed immediately.

Sam sat back down. "I am sorta tired."

"I'm sorry about them." Ellen waved in the general direction of the bar.

"It's not your fault. We'll be fine." Sam smiled at her. He was much more forgiving and kind than Dean at this point.

Moving to the door, Dean opened it and stood to the side, hand resting on the doorknob. "We get breakfast before we leave?"

Ellen rolled her eyes, snorted and left. Giving the door a hearty shove, it swung closed. Dean locked it then double checked to be sure the lock was in place.

"I'm going to grab a shower." Sam got up, grabbed some clean clothes and headed to the bathroom.

Dean stretched on his bed and clicked on the TV, hoping it would drown out the sounds of the roadhouse patrons. An hour later, Sam was conked out on his bed. After a hot shower, the kid had emerged with drooping eyelids and a less than steady gait. He'd more or less fallen onto the bed, rolled up in blankets mumbling something Dean took to be a 'good night' and was asleep within a minute. Dean had taken his own shower, and it pretty much had the same affect on him it had on his brother. Warm and relaxed, Dean melted into the mattress and didn't fight the sleep that dropped over him.

-o-

_Monster. Killer. I'm in you, I am you_.

Somewhere in his dream, something crashed. Sam tried turning away from the noise and willing Dean to get his ass inside the dream with him, he tried his best to ignore the voices screaming through his head.

_What is dead should stay dead. What's good for you isn't for the rest of us? Abomination. Freak. Monster. Killer in you. I am the killer in you_.

Another loud bang, this one accompanied by Dean's grumbling. Sam was trapped in another of his terrifying dreams and Dean did nothing but grumble? That wasn't right.

_Dead! He's dead_!

_No. No._ **No**. _Dean was_ **not** _dead_.

More banging reverberated through Sam's head. Angry shouts from somewhere far enough away they sounded muffled. Sam wondered who was dead, since it certainly wasn't Dean who'd died. Sam would never allow that to happen.

"Sammy."

Sam looked around for his brother. He heard Dean call his name so he was in here somewhere.

"Sam!" Dean's voice hissed in his ear, insistent and urgent. In his dream, Sam called out to Dean so he'd find him.

When a hand clapped over his mouth, Sam jerked awake, arms flailing, feet kicking. Another hand pressed down on his shoulder and a weight pushed down on Sam's chest.

"Sam, shut up."

"Humpft," was all Sam could get out. Eyes opened wide, he scanned the room.

Dean, clad only in jeans, was crouched between the beds with one arm extended over Sam's chest, the hand gripping his shoulder, keeping Sam in place. The hand that was over Sam's mouth moved slowly to Dean's lips, "Shhh."

Sam heard shouting from outside, someone yelling that someone was dead, or about to be dead. He met Dean's gaze and eased one elbow under him so he could sit up. Dean's hand on his shoulder curled to a fist and pulled, helping Sam sit up further. Mouthing the words, "what's going on?" Sam eased away from Dean and off the other side of the bed, grabbing up his own jeans and running shoes.

Shaking his head and shrugging, Dean stood up and moved to the weapons' duffel, taking out handguns, he handed one off to Sam who stuffed it behind his back in his waistband. Moving silently, Dean headed to the window beside the door, and parted two of the blinds, looking through. "I can't see anything."

They both jumped when something hit the outside of their door so hard it rattled. A glance back at Sam, who nodded and widened his stance, Dean returned his attention to the door, hand reaching for the handle.

"Get the hell out here, both of you!" It was Sears's voice on the other side.

At the same time Sam stepped up behind his brother, Dean flung the door open. "Dude! Do you have something against me sleeping?!"

"Mike Pritchard is dead. Murdered." Sears lurched forward and snarled in Dean's face.

"What? How?" Sam barely had the chance to think that Sears was taking his life into his hands doing that, it was like challenging a guard dog; Dean was liable to bite the guy's face off, when Sears shouldered past Dean.

Grabbing Sam by the arm and jerking him forward with such force Sam nearly fell over his own feet before he got enough forward momentum to keep up.

"Hey!" Dean barked, but Sears was pulling Sam along too fast for him to do much other than try to keep from tripping over his own feet. He heard Dean run after them.

Sears didn't stop until he came to a car. It was a newer one, blue, Sam had no idea what sort of car. He found out rather abruptly it was a hard car, however, when Sears stopped, planted his feet and shoved Sam straight against the driver's side door. Sam barely got his hands up in time to stop his face from connecting with the window.

Sam blinked then squinted. At first, in the murky lighting of the parking lot, all he saw was his own reflection. Then other things came into view. Blood splattered the inside of the car. An arm was draped across the steering wheel. Sam sucked in a loud breath and pushed off the car when he realized the arm wasn't attached to a body. A man sat in the driver's seat, his head bent at an odd angle. His throat hadn't been slashed, it'd been ripped out. There was a hole in his chest where his sternum and heart should be. His other arm lay in the passenger seat and the top of his skull had been sheered off, exposing jagged, gray gelatinous remains of a brain.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Sam was spun around so fast the world had to speed up for a second to keep pace. Sears was nearly on top of him. "You going to stand here and tell me you don't know a thing about this, _freak_?"

All of a sudden, he was surrounded by angry voices and unfamiliar faces. They crowded in on him and kept him from getting away from the hideous scene in the car. Sears hit his shoulders with both hands, slamming him against the car. Sam could take out his gun and start shooting or he could let his building panic ignite the power tingling along his spine like an itch. Clamping down his fear, Sam let himself be shoved up against the car. These were men, not demons. Loud, angry, stupid men, but men nonetheless.

"Billy over there saw a shadow outside the car right after Pritchard got inside, one that looked like it belonged to you."

Without warning, the mob parted and Dean stood inside the circle of men with Sam, handgun trained on Sears. "Touch him and you're dead where you stand." Dean's voice was low, lethal and vicious. "We left the bar and went to our room. You woke us up."

Sears backed up a few paces, pointing at Sam. "Billy saw—"

"Billy saw a goddamn shadow. You can't identify anyone that way. My brother didn't hurt anyone and he sure as hell didn't do this."

"How do you know?" Sears challenged. Some of the men started closing in again.

Dean's face darkened and his eyes hardened. Yeah, Sam had only seen that expression about a million times before. Dean passed his gun off into Sam's upturned hand. Three of the men went down before they even knew what hit them, Sam was sure. Dean hit Sears's jaw a few times, using him to clear a path.

When one of the others came at Dean from behind, Sam moved away from the car and twisted around, pushing his back into Dean's, gun raised, barking a stern, "No!"

Sears staggered backwards, away from Dean and Sam. Dean slipped his hand behind him and took Sam's gun from his waistband. Sam turned far enough he could look over Dean's shoulder and see what was going on.

Sears wiped one hand over his mouth, dragging blood across his features. He pointed at Sam again, spitting out, "You."

"He didn't do anything. I was with him the whole time." Dean ground out.

"You mean to tell me every single minute after you left the bar he was in your sight?"

"Not every second, no, but he wasn't out of my sight long enough to do _this_, or anything other than change a channel on the TV."

Rifle shots brought silence from everyone. Ellen stalked to the center of the group. "What the HELL is going on?" When Sears nodded at the car she sidestepped to it and looked in. Closing her eyes, she turned away and took a few deep breaths. After a few seconds she opened her eyes and looked at Sears. "And you're stupid enough to think Dean and Sam had something to do with it? Why?"

"Why?" Sears shouted back. He laughed, a shrill cackling sound that set Sam's nerves on edge. Dean's too, by the way his brother tensed and shifted, so Sam was forced to take a few steps away from the men and car. "I've heard things about Sam Winchester. How he could bitch-slap a demon from ten feet away. How he came back from the dead. How he's not even human."

Sam flinched and nearly fell over when Dean took a few steps at Sears, feeling the loss of his brother's presence deeply and profoundly, as if he'd been ripped away from existence.

"Shut up, Sears. You don't know anything. Rumors are just that, rumors. Spread them about someone else."

Sears glared at Dean for what seemed forever before dropping his gaze to his feet and stepping back. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm telling you it's the truth." Turning far enough to look at Sam, "C'mon, Sammy. We're outa here." Dean stalked away, Sam gave the crowd a level look before following.

"You can't leave till we have this sorted out." Sears called. Dean barely slowed his pace in acknowledgement.

"Dean," Ellen's voice brought them both to a stop. "He's right. Everyone has to stay here until we get this sorted out." She turned to some of the others. "You men, get him taken care of. We're not leaving his body out here for scavengers."

"We should help them," Sam said softly.

Sears's eyes narrowed. "You'll keep your filthy hands off him."

"That's enough." Dean whirled around and started toward Sears.

Sam darted forward, grabbing both of Dean's arms. "Dean. Dean! That'll just make it worse. Leave it alone." He gave his brother a shake. "Dean!"

Yanking his arms free of Sam's grip Dean stared down Sears again and snarled out a warning. "Stay away."

Dean's fingers gripped Sam's elbow like an iron vice, propelling him across the lot and farther from the car and body. Once at a safe distance Dean replaced his handgun and turned to glare at the group getting the remains of a man out of the car. He turned to Sam and stood stock still, simply waiting and watching.

It was unnerving.

"I never left our room until Sears showed up. I didn't do anything. I don't even know if I _could_ do that and I do know I _wouldn't_. Not ever. I didn't do anything."


	3. Chapter 3

PART THREE

Dean stared at his brother for a few seconds, fighting down the urge to slap him and shake him until he came back to his senses.

"Dude, you don't have to tell methis." He hissed then started to pace up and down, up and down, all the while watching as two men neared the car to take care of the body or what was left of it. Sears was standing a few feet away, his gaze directed at Dean and Sam, his eyes squinted together so close that Dean wondered how he could see anything at all. His gun was plain visible in the waistband of his jeans. With a determined stride he came closer again, after throwing one last disgusted look at the car. Without thinking Dean put himself between Sam and the other man.

"He threatened me," Sears growled and stared over Dean's shoulders at Sam. "Now look what happened. This can't be a coincidence."

Ellen, who stood not far away either and observed the ongoings with a sharp eye, now burst out laughing. It sounded foreign and wrong but had a strangely calming effect on Dean.

"He threatened you?" She asked sarcastically. "You threatened _him_, Sears. Not the other way around, just to make things clear. What gives you the right to blame him for this?"

"Reason gives me every right I need."

"Bullshit!" Ellen replied and the few hunters who weren't busy cleaning up started mumbling in angry contradiction.

Dean knew they were outnumbered hopelessly. Counting seven men besides Sears they were at eight versus two. Three, if he counted Ellen to their side. It didn't look good and one glance at his younger brother and he knew, he couldn't really count on his brother either if the shit started to hit the fan. Sam looked almost dazed, staring alternately at the gruesomely mutilated Pritchard and Sears. The panic and guilt written all over his face didn't really help the situation.

It was late at night or early in the morning depending on how they looked at it. These men were even drunker than John Winchester at his worst and even though their balance wasn't the best in their condition, they still could point a gun and pull the trigger. Not necessarily with a good aim but Dean had no intention of seeing what happened if they did start a fight here and now. So, to his own surprise, he was the first one to lower his weapon.

Ellen walked closer putting herself next to him and this way shielding Sam from the men.

"Maybe we should calm down before you do something you're really going to regret," Dean said. "You know, do this grown up stuff like talking and such."

Sears huffed. "What's there to talk about? One of my men is dead. _Another_ one! And you and your brother are right in the middle of it all. What the hell do you expect me to believe? This stinks like Winchester."

Dean could already hear Sam's teeth rattling and only then he realized the cold, adrenaline having rushed through his veins until then. It was a February night in Nevada, and he and Sam were only wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, which they had hastily flung over their heads, while Sears was clad in full outfit including a fur-lined vest and a pair of boots. If Sears didn't shoot them soon, he'd kill them with pneumonia.

"If you want to keep up your stupid game of 'blame-the-innocent' could we at least continue somewhere warm?" Dean's breath was condensing in front of his mouth and he grabbed his brother's shoulder to steer him away from the car, ignoring the hostile glances being shot at them. He didn't care. Things were getting out of control and he and his brother were standing naked--figuratively --opposite a group of gung-ho hooligans with trigger happy fingers. Not what Dean had expected from their night off. The men were apparently dumbfounded enough by Dean's final words and his impromptu turn towards to the building that they even parted to let them pass.

The car they found the dead guy in was standing on the parking lot in front of the roadhouse and it took Dean only a few moments to enter the building, which was warm compared to the freezing temperatures outside.

"I'll get some blankets. Help yourself with the whiskey," Ellen said, almost making Dean jump. He hadn't even realized she had followed them inside.

The lights in the Roadhouse were still on, the bar not emptied of visitors. One look at the display of the ancient stereo told him it was 1:34 a.m. The radio was still turned on, the tables still occupied with half-filled beer glasses. The bar must have been full with hunters while Pritchard had been slaughtered only a few feet away. Strangely enough, the priest was still sitting in his booth, eyeing them with an almost hostile animosity that didn't fit into the image of a clergy man. He was still nursing the same glass in his hands, as if he hadn't come here to drink but merely stare at the alcohol. Dean tried to ignore him.

"Are you okay?" Dean bodily sat Sam on the same stool he had occupied before, sipping his own beer and Sam blinked at him. He was still cold and pale though it had more to do with the fact that he was being accused of such a gruesome murder than the temperature. "Sam, talk to me. Are you alright?" Dean repeated, putting his hand on the chilly skin at Sam's neck and finally, Sam looked at him, recognition sparking.

"I didn't do it, Dean," he breathed, his face a mask of despair. "You gotta believe me!"

"I gotta...what?" Not sure he had heard right Dean took a small step backwards and leaned down, his eyes on the same height as Sam's. "I gotta believe you? Are you kidding me?" It came out harsh and Sam jerked under his touch, face tilting away as if in shame but Dean held his chin in place. "Listen to me, Sam! I don't have to believe. I _know_! You didn't do anything. You just _didn't_. Nothing--no one in this world could make me think something like that."

"But..." Sam trailed off when Ellen came back with some blankets, dropping them on the counter unceremoniously and turning away again to fill three tiny glasses with a clear liquid and putting them in front of each of them.

"Drink!" she ordered, staring at Sam with a stern expression that made Dean's heart swell with gratefulness.

"I don't..."

"Just do it!" Dean ordered, then turned to Ellen. "Thanks, Ellen."

"You're welcome," she grumbled, then looked through the window where Sears and his men were gathering, talking. "That is one dead man out there."

"You're saying?" Dean barked, his teeth grinding.

"Not saying anything, Dean," she tried in a soothing, calm tone. "I just think you should..."

"...get the hell away from here?" Dean finished.

"Yeah, something like that." Ellen sighed. "I'm sorry. I should've known something like this would happen."

"Why's that?" Dean wanted to know and managed a smirk. "Because we're cursed?"

"No, dumbass," Ellen answered. "Because Sears and his men mean trouble. It doesn't even matter who they have trouble with. If there's no one they can poke with a stick, they find themselves a victim. Obviously they found you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Couldn't they just torture a cat or something like everyone else?"

Sam gave him a disgusted glance and Dean was glad for a sign he was aware of his surroundings again.

"Dean, there's a dead—really, really dead--hunter out there, killed by some shadow." He almost choked on the last word and Dean sobered fast. "Something is going on here."

"I know that, Sherlock," Dean replied pointedly. "And I also know that you've nothing to do with it."

"But I'm afraid they don't know that," Ellen interjected, cocking her head to the side when the door opened and Sears entered again.

He strode towards Dean, slowly, measuredly.

"Now what, come to apologize?" Dean asked, cocky, and could hear Sam groan. That so was not helping and Dean knew it. He just couldn't resist it. Those jerks deserved his fist on their noses and if they kept threatening his brother, they deserved much worse.

"Hardly," Sears spat on the floor and took one step closer.

This was ridiculous. Dean was tired and pissed and the dead guy in the parking was neither his fault, nor his problem. He was about to forget about his anger, grab his brother and just leave when the lights started to fade in and out, leaving the Roadhouse in darkness for a few seconds before the light rose again, too bright to be coming from a normal light bulb.

It seemed to come from everywhere. Like the sun had suddenly decided to pop up in the middle of the Roadhouse. The brightness hurt Dean's eyes and he lifted one hand to shield them in the very same second when the light bulbs exploded, showering them all in tiny splinters. The temperature rose so rapidly that between two breaths, Dean felt the heat bristle on his skin. Seconds later, the light vanished so fast that it took Dean a few moments before he realized that the room was bathed in complete darkness again.

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed and squinted in the direction he assumed Sam. It took him several seconds before he could make out the blurry outline of his brother who was wheezing and panting like he had run a marathon.

"It wasn't me," Sam swore and – of course – Dean believed him. This didn't feel like the earlier beer explosion. This felt different, heavier. There was a strange smell in the air and even though it held just the slightest hint of sulphur, it wasn't demonic. At least, not entirely. Besides the sulphur, Dean recognized the familiar scent of hairspray. He had smelled it on enough brunettes and blondes to know what it was: ozone.

He still had problems with his eyes and soon realized he wasn't the only one. He could see the moving blob that was Sears or one of his men--he wasn't sure--with arms stretched out as if feeling his way around the place.

"What did you do, you freak? Stop it!" Sears yelled, close to panicking and was about to attack when all a sudden pressure weighed on them like a heavy blanket. Where there was darkness before there was now a vacuum. Air seemed to have left the room and something pressed against Dean's skin. He felt like a car in one of Bobby's compacters. White dots were dancing in front of Dean's eyes and the temperature was falling again, a light breeze now spicing up the air around them. He crouched down, taking Sam with him, and felt his way around the counter where he hit something warm, human.

"Dean?" Ellen shrieked and Dean confirmed with a short "It's us. You okay?"

"What the hell is going on?" she hissed. What followed was a loud scream of pain, then a ripping sound, obscene in its clarity. A limb being ripped off a body. Still, the darkness was complete and it weighed so heavy, like a centrifugal force, on Dean that he swore he could feel its texture against his skin.

"I don't know!" Dean replied groping for Sam and finding his brother bent over on all fours and, according to the sounds, vomiting his guts out. "Sam!" Dean could feel the muscles on his brother's back constrict painfully and hear his laboured breathing. "Sammy!"

Soft threads of visibility slowly crawled back in Dean's sense of sight and never before was he so grateful to see the feeble remains of Sam's stomach contents on the floor. As long as he could see again.

Next to him, Ellen had gotten on her tiptoes, peeking over the top of the counter and she recoiled quickly, face so ashen in the darkness that it looked like the moon itself.

"What's going on there?" he asked.

She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. Dean didn't miss the look she shot towards Sam. There was fear in it, doubt even, and his heartbeat quickened even more. "Ellen!" he barked. "What did you see?"

"Just a shadow," she answered. "Nothing but a big shadow. At least one man down, another one still standing."

Dean was about to crawl back around the corner when he was held back by Sam, whose fingers were wrapped tightly around his wrist.

"Don't!" Sam breathed. "I think, it'll be over soon."

"How do you...?" Dean hissed but before he could finish the sentence silence feel, almost more striking than the previous darkness. He got up slowly, not really wanting to see what had happened but looking nonetheless. He regretted it seconds later. What was left of Sears was lying in a pile of clothes and limbs. Dean could see a bloody foot next to a head with open eyes. Then the horrified faces of at least five of Sears' men whose eyes where first glued to their mutilated fellow hunter, then to Dean.

"Go!" Ellen whispered next to him. "Get Sam out of here before they rip his head off with their bare hands."

"We can't leave you here, Ellen. This thing--shadow-- whatever, could come back."

"Dean, just get your ass out of here!" Ellen ground out between clenched teeth, already grabbing for the sawed-off that was hanging above next to empty glasses and full bottles of Jim Beam. Instincts kicked in and Dean looked down at Sam who was about to get back on his feet. He reached under Sam's armpits and hauled him on his feet, dragging him on and through the front door into the night.

The door to their room was still standing wide open when Dean reached it, closely followed by Sam.

"We have to go back, Dean!" Sam wheezed and after Dean made sure the door was closed firmly he took the time to look at Sam. His brother rummaged around in his duffel until he found what he was looking for: a sweater to fend of the chilly temperature.

"The hell we do. One of their men was killed in front of their eyes and you were in the room. And you want to go back and offer a peace treaty or what? Are you nuts?"

Sam looked hurt for a moment before his face fell. Maybe that had come out a little differently from what Dean had intended and he could see his brother swallow convulsively.

"You...you don't actually think that was me, do you?" Sam stood up, the warm shirt he was about to pull over his freezing body forgotten in his clenched fists.

"No!" Dean replied quickly. Maybe a little too quickly and he winced. "Of course I don't. But..."

"But what Dean?"

"You have to admit, this looks suspicious from an outsider point of view."

_Yeah, Dean! Go on. Why don't you just rip your tongue out. This would make saying stupid things like this less a problem._

Sam stared at him, open mouthed. His eyes blinking sluggishly as if he was trying to decipher Dean's words.

"You _do _believe it was me!" It was not a question but a statement and Sam's betrayed face merely crushed Dean's heart.

"Sam," he began, taking a few steps into the room. Fortunately, Sam didn't seem to have the power to move away from him since he stumbled with the back of his knees against the edge of the bed and sank down.

Sitting across from him on his own bed, Dean wiped his face and sighed, exhausted. "I do _not_ believe it was you!" he said and put every ounce of belief in his words that he could muster. Admittedly, the evidence was against his brother but Dean didn't give a shit about evidence when it came to Sam. He knew his brother. He knew Sam wouldn't--hell _couldn't_--do anything like that. There had to be an explanation and all they had to do was to find it and--well--convince about half a dozen hunters of it, who somehow were convinced to have found the Anti-Christ in Sam.

Cakewalk.

"You don't trust me, Dean," Sam sighed, shoulders slumping and added in a whisper, "and I'm not even sure I trust myself."

Dean gulped. "What are you talking about?"

Sighing, Sam leaned forwards on his elbows. "These powers, Dean. They're like...like a fire burning inside of me and I can't control it." He put his head in his hands and Dean could hear him take a deep breath. "There was something in the roadhouse, something bad. And... I could feel. It..." He trailed off, searching for words that would be explanation and apology enough.

"It wasn't you, Sam. That is all that counts." Dean reached out, touched his brother's shoulder. Could feel the muscles tense under his fingers. "This is not you." _I promise_! He wanted to add but felt foolish. How could he promise something like this? He wasn't ten anymore and Sam wasn't a six year old boy who only wanted to know if his father would be home for his birthday.

In his childhood and later in his youth, Dean had made a lot of promises to his brother and he had barely kept half of them. A promise was a flowery phrase to make Sam's pain ease and Dean's own increase because this was another chance for him to mess things up. To offer hopeless assurance where all hope was long gone.

Sometimes he was the worst brother ever and this felt like such a moment.

"I'm sorry, Sam," and the younger man looked up, confused.

"Sorry? You're sorry? What have you got to be sorry for?" It sounded bitter.

Dean shrugged his shoulder. "Heck, where do I start? I told you that as long as you were with me, nothing would happen to you."

"I was five, Dean," Sam snorted.

"Hey, I tell you this at least once a week," Dean said with just the hint of a smile. "And it doesn't matter how old you are. I promised I would take care of you and I'm doing a piss poor job, I gotta say."

"Dean..."

"No, Sam you listen! I'm sick of you carrying every burden you collect on your way. None of this is your fault and I want this to get in that stubborn head of yours. Taking care of you is my job, my responsibility and... " Memories of Sam being tortured in front of him flared up in his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the images away.

Sam managed to chuckle. "You're such a hypocrite, Dean."

Glad that Sam at least managed a sad smile, Dean retorted with a mildly offended "Hey!" and Sam looked at him gratefully, face getting grave again.

"I don't want this, Dean. I want this to stop. I can't even trust myself. How can _you_ possibly trust me?"

Ellen chose that moment to knock, yelling at them to open the door. She sounded more angry than panicked and Dean waited for Sam's nod before he went to open the door for their friend. The woman strode in with a snarl on her lips, her gaze all but wary directed at Sam. Something that made Dean want to kick her out of their room again immediately.

"Care to explain what the hell happened in there?" she barked in a bad mood. "I just had to collect bones from my bar like peanut shells." Dean swore he could see Sam shrink under her stare.

"Ellen," He began. "you don't actually think we... Sam has got anything to do with this."

She took a deep calming breath and after one last look at the younger man, she rolled her eyes, beaten.

"No, of course I don't," she sighed. "But this doesn't mean others don't. We have a really big problem."  
"Only one?" Dean joked.

Ellen didn't seem to think it was funny.

"You should be glad it was Sears who got ripped into pieces in my bar. Everyone else is running around like chickens with their heads chopped off. The remaining hunters aren't exactly organised," she informed them. "But I'm not sure how long this is going to last. They will eventually get around their panic and start shooting at the assumed source of it."

"Which would be me," Sam finished her train of thought.

"Which is nonsense!" Dean flared up heatedly and Ellen rolled her eyes at him.

"Of course it is, Dean," she tried to calm him down. "We just need to convince _them_." She made a pointing gesture over her shoulder. "So, any idea what this thing was?"

Glad to have something else to think about, Dean tried to concentrate, recalling everything that had happened so far but even before he could put the things together, it was Sam who spoke up thoughtfully. "A daeva."

Ellen looked rather clueless. "Daeva?"

"Shadow demon," Dean answered promptly and then narrowed his eyes as realization hit him. "The darkness, the viciousness. It all makes sense."

"But usually they have to get summoned by someone before they kill. They don't kill on their own," Sam interjected, sounding a little more hopeful--if hopeful was the right word for their situation.

"So someone is freaking summoning demons? In my bar?" Ellen sounded personally insulted.

"Looks like it," Dean replied. "But the targeting is tricky at best." Only too well he could remember the last time they encountered a shadow demon. They had gotten out with more scratches and bruises than they could count and it had given them a taste too close to their own mortality as well as vulnerability. Back then, it had almost cost them their father's life. Now that Dean was thinking about it, it somehow felt like the lesser evil in relation to their current situation with their father. "Summoning shadow demons requires an altar or at least various magical supplies to keep them under control. And the person is somewhere close by."

"We need to take a look at the dead men," Sam insisted, looking like the implementation of his suggestion was the last thing on his mind.

"I will not have another look at the bloody pulp of Sears again," Ellen mumbled. "I'll have nightmares as it is."

Sam looked at her apologetically. "Sorry, Ellen."

With something that sounded like _pish _she waved her hand at him. "Not your fault. So, what do you expect to find?"

"We should find either symbolic indications written in blood or something else that attracted the demon to its victim," Sam explained.

Ellen squinted. "Like a hexbag, you mean?"

"Possible."

"Fine!" she stated energetically and strode towards the door.

"Wait," Sam had gotten up. "Where are you going?"

"Looking for the evidence. You'll need it," She answered and Dean knew she was right. He didn't have to like her going alone, though.

"I should go with you," he offered and got an affirmative nod from his brother.

"No! You stay here! I'll have a look at the car first." She looked out the window, then went on, a little bit more insecure. "The car is within eyeshot. If something happens, come and save my ass, got it?"

Dean smirked, incredibly thankful for having Ellen at their side.

"Be careful!" Sam hollered after her but she was already gone.

Dean got in position next to the window that was covered with a curtain. Carefully, he squinted through a gap in the fabric out in the dark and followed Ellen's progess to the car where she walked around it a few times before opening the door. Even from the distance, he could see her reluctance and he knew he wouldn't feel any different. The insides of the car were a mess. Finding anything but puddles of blood and gore would be quite a challenge.

Startled, he turned around when he felt Sam's presence right behind him. He hadn't even heard him come closer.

"I feel like a coward," Sam murmured. "I can't believe we sent out Ellen to look for the evidences."

"She's a big girl and can take care of herself."

"So are we," Sam countered.

"We're big girls?" Dean smirked. "Speak for yourself, dude."

Sam scowled at him. "You know what I mean. We should be out there. It's what we do."

"Not with a bunch of trigger happy chickens in the roadhouse who just lost their alpha wolf and think you're the one who shot him, _Elmer_."

"Elmer?"

"Well, you know, the little bald guy with the rifle who wants to skin poor Bugs Bunny alive."

"You're weird," Sam exclaimed but Dean could hear the hint of humor in it and was satisfied. He preferred a bitchy Sam to the depressed one any day.

"Still, this feels wrong."

"I don't care if it feels wrong. For the moment, I just want you to be safe and far out of range of these jerks who couldn't find their own asses if they weren't attached to their bodies, let alone the truth."

Sam snorted. "You know you can't always protect me. Not like this."

Dean shrugged his shoulders and let the curtains fall back to their place when he saw Ellen jogging back towards them. "Maybe not. But I can try."

He opened the door and let Ellen in, whose face had the color of peeled onions. There were smudges of blood on her clothes, her hands, even her face but what took all of Dean's attention was the small bag in her right hand, small enough to be hidden in a pocket.

"I suppose that's what you've been looking for," she said grimly but her eyes sparkled with victory.

"Yes," Dean replied. "and now we only need to find out who this belongs to and..." He turned to his brother, punching a finger at his chest. "And keep you away from the wrong side of a muzzle. See? Cakewalk!"


	4. Chapter 4

PART FOUR

Martin Ellroy glared right back at the insolent snot of a hunter when the guy and the taller kid following him came back into the roadhouse. This was far better than he'd expected. He knew hunters were unstable and paranoid, but to have them all turn on one another like rats in a cage, it was all he could do to keep from rubbing his hands together in glee.

The best part was the dark-haired boy who seemed to have a clue about what was going on was the one they were blaming. Well, except for the guy with him, Winchester. Ellroy knew the name, of course. Anyone who'd studied hunters and their prey knew that name, along with a few of the others here tonight. He really had no idea why the others hated the two Winchesters so much, nor did he care.

What he did know was it was poetic justice. He'd only met the other Winchester once, briefly for a few minutes. The man hadn't said a word to him, simply nodded, letting his partner do all the talking. Harvelle was the other hunter's name, and he'd done the talking, made the promises both he and Winchester broke. Ellroy figured these two boys were Winchester's sons.

"We'll keep your family safe. We'll get that monster, make sure no one gets hurt ever again by it, send it back to Hell where it belongs." That's what Harvelle had said.

That's not what Harvelle and Winchester had done. Ellroy had spent a month in a hospital recuperating. When he was released from the hospital, he faced the task of burying his wife, son and daughter. All because two hunters promised to protect them and failed. Two men who were supposed to keep his family safe and alive and had let them die.

Ellroy learned years later Harvelle also died, but that was of little consequence. The fact that Winchester's sons were here was dumb luck and a huge bonus. Frankly, Ellroy didn't care what hunters he killed, or who he hurt killing them, as long as they paid and paid big.

He'd lived his life seeking out knowledge and putting together huge amounts of research for various projects. Finding a way to slaughter a bunch of hick hunters using one of the very things they hunted was child's play. The fact he'd dabbled in the black arts of witchcraft for many years didn't hurt his cause either.

The only kink in his plan was the taller of the two Winchesters. He was barely more than a boy, but he seemed to know things he shouldn't. Maybe the talk from these other hunters was true. Ellroy had no idea and didn't actually care beyond the fact the kid might be able to finger him as the daeva master.

Ellroy had sipped his beer and watched the entertainment as his pet pulled the loud, very drunken, very obnoxious Sears to bits. It was a thing of beauty and joy. Another hunter dead was another form of payment.

The woman, Harvelle's wife, slipped through the parking lot and Ellroy watched as she searched the car, swearing softly when he saw her pull his hex bag from under the seat. She disappeared to the back of the building, where Ellroy knew there were rooms hunters stayed in and rented from her.

She and the two Winchester brats were back a short time later. The dark-haired kid, Sam, he kept shooting odd glances at Ellroy. The other one, the mean one, Dean, he did the same, but Ellroy could tell they were doing so for different reasons. He had the definite impression Dean was simply curious as to why he was here, maybe a bit suspicious, but nothing like the others. Of the entire lot he'd seen, Dean Winchester seemed to be the least paranoid and most reasonable.

His brother, however, was another matter entirely. The kid was freaked to hell and back, which delighted Ellroy to no end. There was something else, some awareness from the kid that he didn't get from anyone else. His gaze slipped to Ellroy a few times, and the words Ellroy caught were unsettling…_daeva_, _hexbag_, _someone_ _in_ _control_…each time Sam Winchester heard or spoke one of those words, his gaze would flick around the room and invariably land on Ellroy for a few seconds longer than anywhere else.

When Sam snagged his brother's sleeve in two fingers and pulled him close enough to whisper in his ear, the other Winchester's head tipped around far enough that Ellroy realized they were talking about him.

Pretending to stagger slightly, Ellroy completely ignored them as he left the bar and headed back to his own room. These insignificant bugs were no cause for concern. By daybreak, they'd all be nothing but a pile of blood, bones and tissue for scavengers to dine upon.

The car wasn't the only place there was a hexbag, nor was it the only weapon at his disposal. A short rest, a snack and a few more cleverly placed objects and these hunters would all be toast.

-0-

Sam eased onto one of the stools, still feeling shaky and uncertain. It didn't matter what Dean said, these other hunters were going to believe he was behind the killings. If they did manage to convince the pack of bozos there was a daeva afoot—and half these men probably had never dealt with one before—they'd surely blame Sam for being the master.

He glanced over at the door when three of the hunters stalked into the roadhouse. Dean immediately puffed up like a pissed off cat and walked forward to greet them.

"Larry, how's things?" Dean looked around the man to the two men behind him. "And how is your brother Daryl and your other brother Daryl?"

One of the Daryls, Sam wasn't sure which one, spit at the floor, missing Dean's boot by a good foot or more. Dropping his gaze to the floor, Dean shrugged and shook his head. "Hope you pee with better aim than that."

Ellen leaned over the bar and tapped against Sam's shoulder, "This is his idea of diffusing the situation?"

Nodding, Sam sighed, "Yeah, actually, it is."

"Listen, Winchester," Larry stepped forward and jabbed at Dean's shoulder with two fingers, making Sam wince. "No beef with you." He shifted his gaze to Sam. "But we all know what we've heard about your brother here. Not your fault, no one blames you, nothing you could have done, but he's dangerous and he needs to go."

Dean rocked back and forth a few times before settling his weight on his heels. He took a deep breath and blew out a fake groan. "You, or any of your…friends, touch my brother and you'll be dead before you have time to move."

Even Sam shivered at Dean's tone. It was low, lethal and serious. Larry and the Daryls backed up a few steps, making Sam's lips curl to a small smile.

"Sam didn't do a damn thing wrong. We were all in this room. That thing is a Daeva, look it up if you don't know about them. Someone is controlling it. Go search our room. Nothing in there can be used as an altar or to control a Daeva."

"We should do that." One of the Daryls reached out and jostled Larry's elbow.

Glancing back at his buddy, Larry nodded. Holding out his hand, he turned his attention to Ellen. "Gimme the key."

Wordlessly, Ellen reached under the bar, retrieved the extra key and tossed it to Larry who snatched it out of the air. Turning on his heel, his friends parted and he strode between them.

"I think that priest is involved somehow. The energy radiated from near him, or from the part of the room he was sitting in."

Twisting around to look at Sam, Dean pointed to the table the priest recently vacated. "You two check around in here. I'm going to keep an eye on the peanut gallery."

"Dean…"

"Sammy, it'll be fine, but they need to look around our room without you in it. I don't want them planting anything. Just go with me on this and stay put for a few, okay, please?"

Sam opened his mouth, but Ellen's hand on his bicep stopped him. "He's right, honey. They need to see this isn't you."

Meeting Dean's gaze, Sam nodded once and swallowed down his apprehension. He wasn't at all confident about staying behind here while Dean followed the other hunters. Dean's face softened and he dipped his chin in response to Sam, making it perfectly clear he'd be back soon and things would work out. He wore his very definite _don't worry_ expression.

Sam was going to worry anyway.

Watching Dean walk out the door and waiting until it swung shut behind him, Sam started when Ellen moved away from the bar and toward the table the priest had occupied all night. He slid off the stool and followed her.

"What are we looking for?" She bent down and checked under the table.

"Another hexbag, anything that could be used in an altar or to hold the Daeva in it, any sort of religious relic. When we dealt with them before Meg used a bowl of blood and an athame. They're considered false gods, so anything that can be used in worship can be used to hold them and give the person control over them."

Ellen stopped and straightened. "Great."

"Hey," Sam shrugged and crossed the room to check along the wall behind the table, "I don't make this stuff up, I just look it up."

Snorting, Ellen tipped over the chairs and checked their undersides while Sam felt along the walls then knelt and ran his fingers over the baseboards. "Something was taped to the bottom." She flicked at the small piece of clear packaging tape hanging loose.

"What's that?" Sam pointed to the tape as he stepped closer. Tiny bits of silver flecked the tape.

"Something metallic." Using her fingernail Ellen picked at one of the larger bits. "I think it's just paint."

Sam traced the indent left by the object with his thumb. "It's shaped like a knife. The athame, that has to be what he had here."

"Sort of chintzy for a thousands-year-old relic, don't you think?"

Shaking his head, Sam looked over at her. "It doesn't have to be a relic. Hell, it's probably a cheap store-bought piece of crap, but if he's blessed it properly and uses it properly it won't matter."

"So, he's keeping a Daeva in it?" Ellen sounded more than a little skeptical.

"We need to find out." Sam took the chair and set it down before heading to the door, Ellen running to catch up. They left the main part of the roadhouse and broke into a sprint when they heard Dean and the other three men arguing…again.

Just as Sam rounded the corner, Dean stormed away from the door to their room, throwing his hands in the air.

"That doesn't prove a damn thing, we've all got those. I've got one, Sam has one, hell you probably have two!"

Larry was marching after Dean, one of the Daryls right behind him. To Sam's utter surprise—and from the expression on Dean's face, his too—he grabbed Larry's arm, stopping him. "Larry, man, I have one, too, he's right. There wasn't anything in there to prove anything."

Turning and wiping one hand over his face, Larry looked his friend up and down and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, okay, yeah, you got me on that one." He turned back to Dean. "Look, Winchester, just 'cause Sal here has one too still doesn't prove to me your demon spawn brother is innocent. Or that he doesn't need putting down and putting down now."

Dean's face went from shock to deadly anger in less than a second. "You stupid—" his words stopped when every outdoor light exploded in a rain of ozone and glass.

Even though they were outside, the entire world seemed to close in on Sam, pressing against him from all sides until he wanted to scream and claw his way out. Tingling shot up and down his spine until all he could do was figure out how to continue breathing.

Dark descended, far darker than what a moonless night with no lights should have provided. He heard Dean jerk to one side and felt his brother bump into him, shoving him a few steps farther from Larry and Sal.

Dean's fingers wound around Sam's wrist and he hissed, "Sam," right next to Sam's ear.

Sam shook his head, and managed to stammer out, "I don't know."

Sal screamed. The dark receded enough that they all got a good view of his feet and hands flapping in the wake of his body as he was lifted from behind and hauled backwards. One of the other doors opened, and Sal was dragged through and it slammed shut.

"What's in there?" Larry turned and shouted at Ellen, pointing to the door Sal had been thrown behind.

Color dropped from Ellen's face. She turned to Sam, ignoring Sal and his other friend who'd come running from Dean and Sam's room. "That priest."

"Who I'm betting is no priest." Dean sprinted at the door, Sam right behind him. Barely slowing down, Dean did exactly as Sam expected, kicking at the door.

Larry shoved Sam aside and followed Dean into the priest's room. Ellen, Sam and the other Daryl came to a stop near the door. Sal, or more to the point, what was left of Sal, was scattered over the floor and walls. Bits of blood, bone and tissue fanned out in a half circle.

The priest stood behind a folding table at one end of the massacre, giggling. "You." He pointed to Ellen. "You bring them all here."

"What?" She took a few steps toward him, carefully avoiding the carnage on the floor.

"You have no idea what you're messing with there." Dean moved so he blocked Ellen from getting any closer to the crazy priest.

"Oh, that's where you're wrong. See, I do. I've spent years studying this stuff, so really, I do." He picked up a knife and moved the tip around a stone slab sitting on top the folding table. It looked almost as if he were doodling. "You hunters think you're so great. Want to know what hunters did for me?" He spat the word hunters out as if it were a vile taste in his mouth. "Promised to keep my family safe, and get rid of the thing inside my boy. They got rid of it alright, it and my boy, my wife, my girl."

"Look, Mr—?" Sam took a step forward.

"Ellroy. Name mean anything to any of you?"

They all stood there silently. Fortunately Larry and his friend had the good sense to not respond, as did Dean, Ellen and Sam.

"Mr. Ellroy," Sam kept his voice soft and low, "whatever happened, it was an accident."

"An accident that cost me everything!" Ellroy screamed. "See, these two guys show up after my son, my nine year old son, had been acting strange for a while. We took him to doctor after doctor, but not one did any good. Then these two show up, claim it's a demon." He made larger doodles with the knife and mumbled a few words under his breath.

The room behind him started to darken, small tendrils of a shadow began forming. They slithered down the walls and began meeting and coalescing into a larger shadow.

"The one guy, Harvelle, he says him and his buddy, they'll get rid of the demon, make sure my family is safe."

Dean's shoulders sagged. He turned far enough to meet Sam's eyes, "Oh crap."

Sam knew as well as Dean and Ellen where this story was going. Their father and Ellen's husband had gone on a hunt together, Harvelle had died, the demon escaped.

"So, see I find out about this place that lots of hunters go to," he giggled manically again. "Lady, what you've got here is boxed lunch for my little pet. I'm going to get rid of as many of you as I can."

"None of us were even there!" Larry shouted. "Enrique!"

The other Daryl—Enrique—was pulled past Sam and into the room, pinned to the floor, squirming and struggling, being covered with what was left of Sal.

The blackness flowed forward, threatening to smother out Enrique. Larry was moving fast toward him, bending down, arms outstretched.

"No!" Sam shouted and darted after him.

"You can't do this!" Larry's pleas were ignored by Ellroy and mingled with Enrique's screams when the Daeva curled around his arms and legs, pulling them in different directions.

Holding the athame in both hands and raising them high over his head, Ellroy glared at them. "Yes, I can."

Despite all of them yelling out warnings, Ellroy slammed the blade onto the stone slab. When cheap metal met hard stone, it shattered.

"Oh crap," Ellen exhaled.

"Shit," Dean spat.

"We're so screwed. You moron," Larry growled, still struggling to get Enrique on his feet and out of the shadow.

Enrique's feet slipped over the floor as he tried pushing away from the thing, his fingers scrabbled along the wooden planks. Dean was closest to them. He gasped and lurched sideways when the dark shadow stretched away from the men on the floor and at him.

Sam didn't think or consider his actions, he simply moved. Crossing the room, he got between Larry, Enrique and Dean and the shadow. "Stop it," he snarled out, throwing both hands out in front of him. The sharp tingle sitting at the base of his spine spread through out his back and torso until he felt as if he were encased in a bubble of energy. Every nerve ending snapped and popped.

The shadow pulled back, rearing so it flowed along the ceiling and screeched then narrowed to an arrow thin streak of black and shot straight at Sam's chest.

Closing his eyes and steeling himself for whatever impact with this thing would do, Sam let go of the energy. The Daeva hit him hard in his solar plexus. Sam was thrown backwards, the Daeva literally bounced off him and was slung in the opposite direction. It hit Ellroy, throwing him up and back into the wall behind him. Ellroy screamed and thrashed as the Daeva whirled around him, stripping his bones clean.

Whipping into a vortex, the Daeva skimmed one way then the other, back and forth across the room. Everything launched into the air: papers, clothes and bed linens were flung in all directions.

Pressure built in Sam's ears. He was barely aware of Dean beside him, shouting something, tugging then pulling hard on his arms. Feeling as if his breath was being squeezed from his chest, Sam fought desperately to fill his lungs and balance the force of pressure within him.

This thing was horrifying and terrified him beyond what he'd ever imagined. The only thought Sam could form and keep in his head was he wanted it away from him, from Dean, from all of them and he wanted it to go away _now_. He had a vague awareness of his lips moving, but he didn't know what he was saying.

With no warning, everything stopped. The vile darkness vanished, replaced by a normal dark, perforated here and there by wisps of light from somewhere outside. Dean was jerking him backwards, putting one arm across his chest and pushing Sam so he was completely behind Dean. Handgun out, Dean stared down Larry.

"You back the hell off _now_!" Dean shouted, stepping away from Larry and closer to the door, shoving at Sam as he did so.

Sam had no choice but to go. His head felt fuzzy, the world slippingd into and out of focus. Ellen's fingers wound around his forearm, giving Dean assistance in forcing him out of the room. Sam stumbled along blindly, vision graying in and out along with his hearing. One second everything was clear and sharp, easily heard, and the next, the world was blurry and muffled.

Stumbling, he tripped over his own feet and would have hit the ground face first had Dean not gotten a good hold on him and steadied him.

"How did you do that?" Enrique and Larry were running out of the room right behind them.

"How'd I do—?" Sam looked at Dean who was moving fast to put himself between Sam and the two men.

Dean snarled a warning to Larry and Enrique again. "You stay away from him. You're not hurting him. He saved your sorry asses. The person you accused of killing those others was the one who kept you from being demon chum." Dean had Sam by the collar and was leading him farther away from the two men and the row of rooms. "C'mon, Sammy, we've got to get you taken care of."

"Huh?" Sam realized he was staring at his feet and looked up at his brother.

"You're bleeding, sweetie," Ellen said softly. She slipped one arm around Sam's waist and turned him, and Dean, toward the roadhouse.

Sam let himself be led to the roadhouse and inside. Dean gently pushed him onto a bar stool while Ellen ran behind the bar, grabbed a rag, drenched it in water and wrung it out. "Here." She handed the rag to Dean and Sam wondered absently if Dean was hurt. He tried to make his eyes focus and his brain work long enough to take stock of Dean's condition.

"Thanks." Dean took the rag with one hand and cupped the back of Sam's head with the other, pressing the rag to his face. "Can you hold that there?"

"Why?" When Sam didn't do anything, simply sat there with his hands in his lap, Dean moved his hand from the back of Sam's head to his chin and tilted it up, forcing him to meet Dean's very worried gaze.

"Sammy? C'mon, kiddo, stick with me, okay?" Dean dabbed at Sam's face, pulled the rag away long enough for him to see it was spotted with blood. "Thanks." Dean reached over the bar when Ellen held out another rag. "Sam, what did you do?"

"Do? I-I'm not sure. I wanted it to go away. It was hurting everyone, and was going after you. The thing scared me and I wanted it gone."

Dean, very much to Sam's surprise, cracked a grin. "It's gone alright. So is the back wall of that room." His hand left Sam's chin, throwing Sam off balance for a few seconds until Dean rubbed the top of Sam's head.

"They saw me?"

Nodding, Dean took the rag and set it on the bar. "You've stopped bleeding. You had a nosebleed. You saved them, Sammy. You sort of did the same thing you did at Cold Oak and you stopped the Daeva from killing those assholes. You stopped it, Sammy, and you saved them. That's a good thing. You did good, Sam."

Sam blinked at him, trying to concentrate on Dean's words and face. "It's okay I used it?"

Face softening to a smile, Dean nodded. "It was more than okay." His hand dropped to Sam's shoulder giving a squeeze. Hand sliding under Sam's shoulder, Dean nudged him to his feet.

Sliding his feet until he could stand, Sam swayed a bit, leaning against Dean's grip for a few seconds until the room stopped its seesawing and he could navigate by himself. Nodding at Dean, "I'm good now."

"You boys should go."

"Now she agrees with me." Dean rubbed thumb and forefinger under his eyes and shook his head. "You sure you're good?"

"I'll be better in about a hundred miles." Sam smiled weakly and turned to Ellen. "No offence. Sorry about all the trouble."

"It wasn't your fault, either of you. I'll get everything cleaned up here. I think Larry and Enrique will help me with any other hunters who have stupid ideas."

"Thanks, Ellen." Dean turned Sam toward the door and gave him a gentle shove.

It didn't take them long to pack their belongings and load the Impala. Sam sank gratefully into the passenger seat while Dean finished stowing away their duffels and slammed the trunk closed. Sliding down until his head rested against the seatback, Sam rolled it to the side when Dean slid into the driver's seat. He reached out and patted Sam's arm.

"Hey, you sure you're okay?"

Nodding, Sam blinked lazily and yawned. "Yeah, I am. Things are sort of hazy and I feel a few seconds behind the rest of the world, if that makes sense."

"Oddly enough, it does." Dean started the car and drove down the long, dirt drive to the highway.

The whole last day had been one disaster after another, but Sam could only focus on one thing. He'd done good. That's what Dean had said, that's what Dean thought; Sam had done good. As long as Dean thought so, it was more than enough for Sam.

The End


End file.
